


Skip the Tell and Let's Just Show

by nikkitikkitavi



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Barebacking, Cock Piercing, Genital Piercing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-22 22:07:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8302957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nikkitikkitavi/pseuds/nikkitikkitavi
Summary: In which Handsome Jack is a hot tattoo artist with a pierced dick, and offers to let Rhys take a peek.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 3OH!3's "Touchin' On My," a classic jam about dicks. Keeping it classy here at chez nikkitikkitavi ;D
> 
> Also please note I mostly wrote this because there is a TRAGIC lack of dick piercings in fics, but I've never actually encountered one 'in the wild,' so don't take anything in here for accurate mkay? 
> 
> ALSO also, this is nonsense fanfiction so no one is wearing condoms, but let's pretend that's a safe and sane thing to do.

It’s late when Rhys finally clocks out, later still by the time he’s made it over to Hyperion, and though the ‘OPEN’ sign is still lit up, Angel is pulling on her coat and taking her bag out of the drawer as he comes in. 

“Oh, Rhys!” she says, throwing down the bag on the desk and peering down to look at the appointment book still laid out. “I wondered if you were gonna make it before I locked up! You’re cutting it kind of close, huh?”

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, flapping his hands around in a way he hopes looks conciliatory. “The last thing ran late and--well, you don’t care! I’m not too late, right?” He pulls his phone out of his front pocket and taps it awake so he can check the time--only just past midnight, but his appointment was for midnight exactly, and Jack can be a dick about this kind of thing; he’s been known to throw a diva fit and go home if Rhys is even five minutes late. 

Angel laughs and--thank God!--shakes her head. “Nah, tonight you’re safe. Actually, that’s why I was hoping to catch you--Dad’s still back there with his last appointment.”

“Still?” Rhys can’t believe it. Handsome Jack is a real bastard, but he’s a big pushover when it comes to Angel, and she takes full advantage by bullying him into staying on time and keeping appointments he’d otherwise flake on. He’s never shown up and found an appointment’s run over on Jack.

Angel raises a somber eyebrow and nods before she breaks and giggles. “Yeah. Still! This guy does reviews for a website; I made Dad promise to be nice, but there’s only so much he can put up with, you know?” Rhys nods; he’s been coming here for years, he does know. Angel turns and gives the back rooms a look before finally grabbing her bag and heading towards the front door. “I haven’t heard any yelling for like, half an hour, so they’re probably finishing up. Just go ahead and take a seat and he’ll take care of you when he’s done with this guy. Just give me a call when you want to schedule your next appointment, okay?”

“Sure, no problemo!” Rhys gives her a thumbs-up, and she gives him a grin and pats his shoulder before she flips off the sign and heads out. She takes a second to lock the door once she’s outside, and then she taps the glass and gives him a wave before he’s left alone.

Rhys takes a moment to look around the front office. It’s strangely empty; when he has late appointments, he’s in the back before Angel leaves, and when he has afternoon appointments, there’s always people waiting or the other artists wandering through. 

After a second’s thought, Rhys takes a seat on the couch set up by the front window, pulling out his phone to stave off the boredom. It’s late enough that he doesn’t have any new emails to sort through, and Vaughn and Yvette have both threatened him with reprisals if he tries to text them after midnight, so he plays a few rounds of a mindless free app instead.

By 12:30, his phone is dead and there still hasn’t been any movement from the back rooms--though there was a brief, incoherent scream of rage and a crash from something getting thrown at a wall--and he’s bored enough that he’s considering leaving, consequences be damned. Jack is vindictive though, and if he comes out and Rhys isn’t here, he may very well ban him. And Rhys _likes_ Hyperion. He’s been coming here for years, following his prosthetic artist Wilhelm from his downtown move to Hyperion and falling in love with Jack’s inkwork almost immediately. He can’t afford as many pieces as he’d like--the prosthetics and their upkeep are more important, and he’s still paying back student loans--but he still manages to come in every six months or so, even if it’s just for something small. 

The point being, he’s been coming here long enough to know that if he wants to _keep_ coming, he’s gonna have to stick out however long this wait may be.

He considers taking a quick nap, but--and no offense to Helios--an indeterminately-old couch in a tattoo shop probably isn’t the cleanest place to put your head down on. Instead, his eye catches on the couple of books spread across the coffee table in front of him, one containing pictures of tattoos and artwork, the other of piercings.

He’s seen the tattoo book, but he leafs through it again anyways, pausing to look at the pictures in the back that have been added since he last looked however many months ago. He’s pleased to see that a few pictures are actually his: one of the lines curling up his collarbone, another of the matching “Best Friends Forever” tattoos he and Vaughn got last year. 

When he’s done grinning at that, there’s still no sign of Jack, so he heaves a sigh and reaches for the book with piercing examples. Rhys has never been tempted to get a piercing, despite Angel’s prodding and pretended insult that he’ll trust _Jack_ with a needle but not her, but to be honest, the thought of piercing a needle through even something as simple as his earlobe makes him a little queasy. “No accounting for taste,” Angel said when he told her that, but she’d left him alone after that.

The book starts out with ear piercings, close-up shots of ears, ranging from simple lobe piercings, industrials and studs, all the way up to conch piercings. Rhys shudders a little when he sees those, quickly flipping forward to stare at pierced tongues and eyebrows, temporary subdermals on every part of the body a person could think of, bellybuttons and dimples and studs through lips. 

He reaches the end of the pictures with nearly half of the book still left, and he flips through a few blank pages, desultory, before he comes to a page with a small index card tucked into one of the plastic slots: “Explicit Photos, No One Under 18.” 

_Oh ho ho_ , Rhys thinks, _the steamy stuff!_ , and flips the page. The first few pages are pictures of nipple piercings, both men and women, and Rhys winces at the thought, brings a tentative hand up to touch a nipple in sympathy. The nipples in the pictures are all red and puffy, sore-looking from being pinched and stretched and having a needle shoved through them. Definitely not for him.

He flips another page and, even though he knew it was coming, he has to stop himself from shoving the album onto the floor when he sees the genital piercings. “Good God,” he mutters to himself, throwing a hand up to his flushed cheeks before he leans in again for another look.

Yup, those are...those are pictures of vaginas! Just...just vaginas right there for anyone to look at. As far as the eye can see! He doesn’t have a lot of practical experience with women’s parts, but if he learned anything living with Yvette for three years in undergrad, it’s that these are pierced in a _very sensitive_ place. _Talk about some tough chicks_ , he thinks.

But if the women are here--he flips forward a page and lands on the dicks. A sea of dicks with a variety of piercings. Some of the pictures were obviously taken right after piercing--swollen and red like the nipples--but some are healed, just a barbell or a captive bead hoop poking comfortably out of the glans, looking weirdly natural. “Huh,” Rhys murmurs, leaning in even closer, one hand creeping out to touch the pictures. Maybe if--

“--nd if you ever come back here, I’ll fucking sedate you and give you a nice Care Bear across your forehead, you got me, sweetheart?”

Rhys snatches his hand back and slams the album closed, throwing himself back onto the couch and trying his best to pretend his face isn’t flaming red when he looks up. Jack and the other man are frozen by the front desk, Jack’s hand clamped on the man’s shoulder, his head dipped down close to the man’s ear for maximum menacing. 

Or at least it would be if both men weren’t staring at Rhys. Slowly, Jack’s eyebrow rises quizzically, before he turns his attention visibly back to the other man. “I _said_ , you get me, _sweetheart_?”

The man wrenches out of Jack’s grip and turns to face him, pulling out a moleskine and scribbling as he asks, “Now is this how you treat all your customers, or just the ones reviewing you?”

Rhys gapes, flush fading, as Jack’s eyes bulge in fury, and then, with an obvious effort, he reigns it in. _That must have been some promise Angel got,_ Rhys thinks in wonder. 

Jack leans in, hisses into the other man’s face, “Listen up, cupcake: so far I've been nice, but you're _really_ wearing on my patience. So why don't you do us both a favor and get the hell out of here?”

“Hmm,” says the reporter, scribbling in his moleskin again. 

Jack stares for a moment, incomprehensible fury etched across his face. “Get out!” he suddenly yells. “Get the fuck out of here and don't come back! Fuck you and your website, you dumb fuck!” He grabs the reporter’s shoulder and hauls him to the door by his shirt, fumbling angrily with the lock until he can kick it open and shove the guy out. 

In the brief seconds before Jack slams the door, Rhys can hear the reporter call, “Send me the bill!”

“Jesus! Motherfuck!” Jack kicks the wall a few times. “That fucking guy! Fuck!” 

Rhys sits quietly and watches, waits a moment and then coughs politely. 

Jack whirls around, stares at him in surprise, and then laughs, once, harsh and barking. “Jesus, Rhysie, I forgot you were there. Well, come on then, I'm sure you're as fucking sick of this place as I am, let's get this over with.”

“Wow, I really can't wait for you to poke a little needle into me a billion times!”

“Quiet, you,” Jack growls, but there's an evil grin on his face, so Rhys counts this as a victory. 

His back room is...slightly more cluttered than usual--a tray of ink overturned and leaking over the floor in one corner, the drawers holding Saran Wrap and gauze scattered across the room, a cabinet denting a wall--but it's not the worst Rhys has ever seen the place. Jack is an... _excitable_ man at the best of times, prone to loud and enthusiastic gestures that often leave a tornado of disaster in his wake. 

“All right, you know the drill,” Jack says, moving over to the cabinet and pulling out supplies, “Sit down and take off your shirt, maybe we can try and get out of here before 3, huh?”

“Dare to dream,” Rhys replies. He hasn't had more than six hours of sleep in a night since grad school--and isn't that depressing? 

Still, he's got a half-day tomorrow, and he's started thinking about a full night’s sleep the way he used to daydream longingly of sex back in high school; he pulls off his shirt and sits down with due speed. _Eight hours of uninterrupted sleep,_ he thinks, dreamily, _maybe even ten_. 

He's jerked back to the moment with a flick to his nipple, and Jack smirking down at him. “Rise and shine, Rhysie, the fun’s just about to start.” He hefts the tattoo gun up, hits the trigger so it whirrs on and strikes an action pose.

It’s late enough that Rhys’ sleep deprivation has taken a turn for loopy; he laughs harder than he meant to, clutches the bench beneath him until the leather creaks.

“Oh boy,” Jack drawls, “Looks like someone’s been thinking coffee and sleep are interchangeable again.” Jack’s one to talk, Angel’s told him stories about walking in and finding him asleep in his cereal after 36 hours of manic wakefulness, but there’s really no arguing with him, so Rhys just nods docilely, in the hopes of sparing himself a half-hour rant.

After a moment, Jack pulls up his chair and settles in to his work, transferring the pattern onto Rhys’ torso, checking to make sure all the lines match up. As his gaze twitches from skin to reference sheet, he asks, “So what got you so nervous out there, huh?”

“Nervous?” For a second, Rhys honestly doesn’t know what he’s talking about, and then it all floods back. “Uhhhh I wasn’t nervous? Hm? Me? No, I’m never nervous, I’m cool as a cuuu-cuuuum-berrrrr!” It’s only through sheer force of will that he stops himself from throwing in some finger-guns--that, and the fact that if he moves, he’ll smear the pattern and Jack will kill him.

Jack actually looks up from his work, expression incredulous. “Right, like I’m gonna believe _that_. Come on, sweetheart, _spill_. You were red as a clown’s shoes earlier--you looking at porn with my wifi or something?” 

_Close enough,_ Rhys thinks before he can stop himself; and, oh God, again with the blushing! “Porn? Nooooo--no way--I would never! It was nothing, I was just looking at the albums out there and you guys scared me, that’s all!”

Jack is staring at him, eyes narrowing--Rhys holds his breath, tries to think cool, normal people thoughts, nothing to see here--before popping wide, his face transforming into delight. “Rhysie, Rhysie, Rhysie, you innocent little cherub. Were you looking at the nasty piercings?”

“What! No way!” Rhys protests, flapping his hands around, pattern lines be damned. But it’s no use, his blush is back in full force; he can actually _feel_ the blood rushing into his face, Goddammit. 

Jack’s grin goes from eight to evil in about ten seconds flat, and he cackles hard enough that his chair rolls back a few inches and swings him into the cabinet. “Holy shit! Rhys, you dog, you!” 

Suddenly his attention focuses, he turns and scoots closer so he can meet Rhys’ uncomfortable stare, that damn smirk curling up the corners of his mouth again as he asks, “What caught your attention?”

“Uh?” Rhys can feel his eyes widening in shock; he feels like a deer in the middle of the road, staring down the yellow line to a sixteen-wheeler’s headlights. This is...not going where he thought it would? Then again, Jack lives for making people as uncomfortable as possible, and this is sure as hell working.

“Come on, doll, you think I didn’t see your face? You were _caught_! You liked whatever you saw! We’re a piercing shop, too, you know--just say the word and you can have it done. Maybe even a discount for my favorite customer.” He’s stood up from his chair, leaning on one arm against the tattooing table, his dumb smirking face right in Rhys’ dumb blushing face. 

“It was--I was just looking!” he can’t stop himself from clarifying, flinching away at the thought of one of those piercing needles against his nipples, his _dick_ , ugh, no, no thank you.

“Looking at _what_?” Jack demands, leaning his other arm against the table, face uncomfortably close, almost--well, no, _actually_ boxing Rhys in.

“The uh...the--” he gestures, in the small space between their bodies, down to his crotch. Jack’s eyes dip down to follow, mosey back up his--naked! Still! Jesus, what is even happening!--torso to meet his eyes. 

“The dicks, huh?” That damned smirk is creeping up his entire fucking face now. Rhys briefly considers kicking Jack in _his_ dick and bailing on this whole embarrassing situation, but then he could never show his face in here again, and who would finish his tattoo? “It hurts, yeah, but beauty is pain, right, babe?”

The embarrassment fades for long enough for Rhys to roll his eyes--what a douchebag, seriously--and then his mind stops with a record scratch and plays back what he just heard. “It hurts--wait. Jack. Do you...?”

Jack is silent until Rhys manages to meet his eyes, then he gives a ridiculous, over-the-top wink. “Why, you interested in seeing it _in situ_ before you take the plunge?”

“Oh Jesus,” Rhys blurts. 

Jack cackles again, but his suspicious eyebrows stay up on his forehead. “So is that a yes?” His hands leave the table and wander down to his waistband. 

Rhys wants to say no, to jump back ten minutes and somehow reroute this conversation before it even starts--but at the same time...He thinks about those pictures in the album, the different piercings and different places, and he can't help wondering...

Before he can second-guess himself, he nods, quick, and then waits for a few tense seconds while Jack grins at him. “Well, if you insist,” Jack purrs, and then his fingers are pulling off his belt and unbuttoning and unzipping and then--Oh God--then his pants are caught around his knees and his dick is hanging out. 

“Yup that's your penis,” Rhys says, voice going high and cracked in the middle. It's impossible to look away. How do you look away from a dick that's staring you in the face from barely a foot away? _Questions for later_ , he thinks, semi-hysterically. 

Jack brings a hand down to prop his dick up, points it at Rhys so the thick hoop of metal in the head is glinting at him in the light, does a Vanna White presentation gesture with his free hand. 

“Oh Jesus,” Rhys breathes. No, really, what is happening? 

He looks. Obviously, he looks. It would take a stronger man _not_ to look at a dick just...just hanging out, right there. 

The piercing is a thick captive bead, a ball screwed between the two ends keeping it together. Jack pinches the hoop between two fingers, slowly rotates it through his flesh and lets out a hiss. 

Rhys jerks his eyes up to Jack’s face, takes a deep breath at what he sees there. Jack is staring at him, expression hungry, eyes burning, and Rhys is half-certain that he's going to catch fire just from standing so close. 

_No way_ , he thinks, mind a screaming whirlwind, _No_ Goddamn _way! How the hell did I miss this?_ He feels like he's about to have a heart attack, staring at Handsome fucking Jack’s hardening dick, having the realization of a Goddamn lifetime. 

Instinctively, he reaches out a hand, aborts right before he can make contact as his nerves get the better of him. “This isn't some cruel prank, right? I'm not getting Punk’d?” 

He manages to look away from Jack’s dick, gets his eyes up to his face again. Jack’s still staring, almost covetous, almost furious, and it _looks_ like arousal, but this is really not something Rhys wants to get wrong, even with the half-hard dick down there winking it's jewelry at him. 

Jack clamps a hand down on his shoulder, drags him closer, off the bench and no space between them anymore, dick pressed up snug against Rhys’ hip, breath hot against his face, and he growls, “Baby, if you can't recognize an engraved invitation, I don't know how much help I can give you.”

And then-- _Holy shit!_ \--then his other hand is twisting in Rhys’ hair, and he's dragging him that bare half-inch in, and their mouths are slotted together, and Jesus, it's everything Rhys has ever wanted and thought he could never have. 

Jack’s tongue slides across the seam of his lips, and God, even that's so good he feels like he could cry, but then he opens his mouth and his Goddamn knees go weak. 

Jack’s tongue is so hot, and their mouths fit together so perfectly, and they're pressed together so tightly, if Rhys died right now, he'd go with a smile on his face. When Jack finally pulls back, his hands loosen their grips, and he ruffles one through the clumped up hair at the back of Rhys’ head, smoothing the strands back in a way that makes Rhys want to purr and arch into him. And really, at this point, why not? 

Jack grins at him when he does, leans forward to give him another hard kiss before he grabs Rhys’ flesh hand, drags it down his body and leaves it just below his shirt, inches away from his dick. “Go on, kitten, see what you think.” 

“Now _that's_ an engraved invitation!” Still, Rhys is almost hesitant, doesn't know how sensitive you get with a piercing in your dick. 

He looks down in the scant space between their bodies, watches his fingers dance down the length of Jack’s dick until he reaches the prize at the end. 

Jack’s mostly hard now, shudders beneath Rhys’ fingers, and when he slips a cautious finger under the hoop, taps gently at the slit in the head, Jack’s hips hitch forward, one hand clamps down in Rhys’ hair again while the other fumbles to his hip. It stays there for a moment before Jack slides his hand around, moves smoothly down to rub at Rhys’ dick in his slacks. 

“You know,” Jack pants, almost contemplative as he unbuttons Rhys slacks and slips a hand in through the placket, “That piercing is really best appreciated through a full-body experience, if you get my meaning.”

Maybe on a good day Rhys could catch his drift, but he's gone light-headed what with all the hands on dicks and Jack’s stupidly sexy collarbone right there for the biting, so he just _hmms? _around the flesh in his mouth and hopes that's enough to make the problem go away.__

__Jack groans under his teeth, clutches him a little harder before he clenches the hand in Rhys’ hair and drags his head up--not before Rhys gives his little love bite a last, parting lick. _Something to remember me by_ , he thinks, almost vicious. Handsome Jack doesn't exactly come across as a monogamous--or even long-term--kind of guy. Rhys is half expecting he'll have to start shopping around for a new body mod shop after this. _ _

___Still_ , he muses, looking at Jack’s dumb, handsome face, his broad shoulders and his stupid, stupid pierced dick, _this may be well worth it._ It's not every day the hot tattoo artist you've been crushing embarrassingly on for years sticks his hands down your pants. Yvette and Vaughn would judge him _hard_ if they heard he passed this shit up. _ _

__“I _said_ , if you like the way that thing feels in your hand--and I know you do,” he gives a pointed look down to where Rhys is still neglecting the majority of Jack’s dick to play with the piercing, “--Just imagine how it would feel inside you.” The hand teasing Rhys’ own dick slithers out of the front of his pants, travels around to the back to knead at his ass, just in case he didn't get the picture. _ _

__Oh, he got it all right. He can feel his knees give a weak little shiver, his belly flop around like a landed fish, just at the idea._ _

__Jack is staring at his face, intent, but a smug smile grows as he reads Rhys’ anticipation on his face. Like the douchebag he is-- _Just appalling taste in men_ , Rhys scolds himself--Jack pulls both his hands away, unlocks Rhys’ hand from his dick so he can step over to lean like a sexy, sexy asshole against the tattooing bench. _ _

__“So how about it, babe,” Jack drawls, drapes one arm against the cushioned bench while the other moves down to stroke up and down his cock, pausing to frame the piercing in the head with spread fingers, “You want a ride?”_ _

__Jesus Christ. Rhys flashes back to freshman year of high school, when his mom sat him down for a mutually-uncomfortable talk about the destructive allure of bad boys. _She would certainly not support this decision_ , he thinks, and takes the step forward to bring them back together. _ _

__Jack is grinning still, right up until Rhys leans in and kisses him. Past that, even; he can feel the slick, hard press of teeth against his lips before they both make the kiss deeper, tongues hot and teasing between their mouths._ _

__“So that's a ‘yes,’ then?” Jack breaks away to ask, that damned grin back._ _

__Rhys rolls his eyes, kicks off his shoes before he reaches down to push his pants and boxers down, off his hips, puddling at his feet for a moment before he kicks them away. “Take this as _your_ engraved invitation, okay, Jack?”_ _

__Jack’s eyes have darkened, travelling up and down his body, stuck on his tattoos like he's never seen them before--like he didn't ink most of them._ _

__“Gotcha,” Jack agrees, shrugging out of his customary ten layers of shirts and jackets, throwing them down on the ground to mingle with Rhys’ own clothes, kicking off his boots and shoving his pants down and away before he reaches out, snags a hand around Rhys’ hip and pulling him back in, close as they can get, hot skin against hot skin._ _

__“Oh,” Rhys murmurs, before he can stop himself. It feels so nice, Jack is so warm all over, even his piercing at body temperature now, though Rhys can still feel it, the hard metal pressed snug against his own dick. It makes him want to move, so he does, rocking his hips up against Jack’s, the heads of their cocks catching and rubbing tantalizingly against each other._ _

__“Baby,” Jack gasps, before leaning in to kiss him again. This time it's hard, hot and intense, Jack’s hands creeping around his waist to clutch at his ass, fingers moving in to stroke down his crease and brush meaningfully over his asshole._ _

__Rhys breaks away from the kiss, leaning his head against Jack’s shoulder just to breathe for a second, breathe and shiver with each brush of one of Jack's fingers._ _

__“Yes?” Jack asks; softly, for once in his loud life, breathing it into Rhys’ ear so the shivers intensify._ _

__Rhys takes one last breath, makes a quick detour to suck a friend for Jack’s hickey onto his neck before he comes up and meets Jack’s eyes. “Yes,” he says, simple, before he leans in to steal another kiss, rocks his hips forward a few times, breath jolting out of him when Jack’s dick moves off course and the ring catches on Rhys’ belly._ _

__Jack groans, fingers clenching in Rhys’ ass before he relocates them to Rhys’ hips, takes a firm hold and spins them around so Rhys’ lower back thumps against the cushioned edge of the bench. “Get comfortable, beautiful, and I'll go grab some lube. Are you more of a strawberry or champagne fizz kinda guy?”_ _

__Rhys hops up on the bench and does his best to arrange himself sexily. He's already sticking, and he anticipates peeling himself off of this at the end of the festivities will be something else._ _

__Meanwhile, Jack is over at the cabinet, rummaging and muttering, until he straightens with a triumphant “Ah-HA!” and twirls around, tube of lubricant in hand. “Sorry, babe, looks like all we've got is strawberry. Somebody musta been stealing my stash, those sluts!”_ _

__“Strawberry is fine, really,” Rhys assures, patting his thigh invitingly, then thinking better of it and instead _parting_ thighs invitingly. _ _

__Jack certainly seems more invited, if the way he shuts up and bounces over is any indication._ _

__After a second eyeballing the bench, Jack apparently comes to the conclusion that it's sturdy enough for two grown men and climbs up, settling on his knees between Rhys’ spread thighs._ _

__He gives Rhys one of those spine-meltingly roguish smirks before he leans in and pinches one of Rhys’ nipples between his forefinger and thumb, twisting until Rhys yowls and thrashes. “Fuck! What the hell?” Rhys grunts, bringing a hand up to run at the abused flesh, still stuck in Jack’s tender mercies._ _

__“You sure you're not interested in getting some metal yourself? A little ring here would look awful nice, Rhysie.”_ _

__“Ah,” Rhys pants, when Jack starts rolling the nipple between his fingers, when he adjusts his body so he can lick at the other, “Thanks, but no. I get enough shit at the office for the tattoos, I don't need piercings to--oooooh!” His voice jumps up a couple octaves, cracks in the middle when Jack’s free hand, miraculously wet with lube, insinuates itself up against his hole._ _

__Jack’s slick fingers stroke once, twice in greeting before he slides one in, easy as anything. “That's a shame,” Jack murmurs, wiggling the finger around, thrusting in and out, “But you let me know if you ever change your mind, hm? We'll get you in to see Angel, she'll fix you up.”_ _

__“Angel--what--?” How is Jack talking? Is he asking questions? Surely he doesn't expect Rhys to be paying attention at this point, right?_ _

__As if in response, Jack leans in, breath heavy against Rhys’ ear, and asks, “How's that, babe?” while he slips another finger in--God, so easy!_ _

__Rhys just whimpers, unclenches his hands from the bench so he can move them to clutch at Jack instead, digging his fingers into Jack’s hair, pulling him over to his mouth instead._ _

__Jack’s accommodating, tongue tasting Rhys’ lips before it moves in, twisting with Rhys’ while his fingers thrust and spread, trying to make a space for himself._ _

__Jesus, that's hot, Rhys thinks, all he can think before Jack has a third finger in him and all his thoughts melt away to just “ _JackJackJack_ ,” over and over. _ _

__It's so goddamn minimal, just fingers as a tool, stretching him for Jack’s dick, no frills on the way; he doesn't even play with Rhys’ prostrate when he finds it, just grazes over it matter-of-factly while he's busy. It shouldn't be so hot, Rhys certainly shouldn't find it so hot--and yet, here they are!_ _

__“Yes?” Jack asks, again._ _

__“Christ, _yes_ , you ass!”_ _

__Jack barks out a laugh, pulls his fingers out--teasing _now_ , the bastard, tickling his prostate in goodbye, tugging lightly at the rim until Rhys groans and knocks his head back against the bench--before he leans forward to place a light kiss on Rhys’ forehead. _ _

__“What an eager beaver!” Jack braces down on a forearm, brings his face in nice and close to Rhys’ as his other hand disappears between them, rubs the remaining lube on his hand onto his dick. He tilts his head down, forehead resting against Rhys’ chest so he can peer down between their bodies and fit the head of his dick against Rhys’ entrance._ _

__Even that--just that, Rhys can feel the hard metal of the piercing against him, and he shivers with the anticipation, clutches Jack to him as Jack sloooowly presses in._ _

__It's damn good, Jack is nice and thick, not overwhelmingly long as he pushes in, but it's just--well, it's a dick with a metal hoop on the end, which is novel, sure, but not anything overwhelming to the degree Jack implied._ _

__Jack looks up from guiding his dick in, must catch some of this on his face before he can hide it because he smirks, sets his face back next to Rhys’ so he can whisper in his ear again. “Just you wait, Rhysie-boy. Give a man a second to get situated, huh?”_ _

__Rhys means to disagree, flatter and lie, if necessary, but Jack pulls back, pulls out and gives a few distracting, experimental thrusts before he's alerted to Rhys’ prostate by his sharp inhale._ _

__“Ahhhh,” Jack breathes, “There we go. Ready for your ride now?”_ _

__“Ugh, Jack, let’s just get this over w--oh fuck!” Rhys starts out with his best _nice try, asshole_ , stuffed shirt voice, but he's cut off by Jack’s thrust. _ _

__This time, he hits Rhys’ prostate dead-on, and the metal hoop, the little round captive bead keeping it closed, roll right over, pressing hard and unyielding against his prostate in the pauses between Jack’s thrusts, rubbing roughly when he pulls out or pushes back in._ _

__“Jesus! Jack!” Rhys calls, unclenching his fingers from Jack so he can dig his hands into the leather of the bench above his head and brace himself against Jack’s thrusts._ _

__Jack gives him that devil-may-care grin, takes a second to make sure he's steady and balanced and then he puts his back into giving Rhys the fuck of his life._ _

__“Holy--!” The pleasure is immediate, blinding, just near-constant hard pressure against his prostate as Jack fucks in in in, sparking off stars in his hands and feet, tingling traveling up his limbs until it settles overwhelming in his belly._ _

__For a moment, as Jack redoubles his efforts into quick, hard little jabs into him, the pleasure is intense enough that it takes all of Rhys’ concentration to hold off his orgasm for another minute, desperate to stay on this gorgeous edge for as long as possible._ _

__When he comes back to himself, he's wrapped completely around Jack, legs tight around his waist, one hand clawed deep in his back, and teeth sharp in his neck._ _

__“Rhys, Rhys, Rhys,” Jack is panting against his neck, sounding pretty damn desperate himself._ _

__For this first time since this started, Rhys has the startling realization that...maybe he _won't_ need to find a new tattoo shop? Maybe he's not the only one who's been harboring a crush. _ _

__A second later all thoughts flee as Jack drops down onto a forearm so he can slither his free hand between their bodies to wrap a hand around Rhys’ dick._ _

__Rhys unclenches his teeth from Jack’s skin to yell, scratches lines down Jack’s back so he gives a yell too._ _

__God, _God_ , it's all so good, Jack’s dick in him, prod-prod-prodding against his prostate, Jack’s hand jerking frantically up-down around his dick, fire racing through his veins, pooling in his stomach until it's all too much and his orgasm tears through him, fiery and blinding, and his entire body jerks and clenches and shivers through it until he's gasping and clutching Jack to him as Jack shivers and shouts through his own orgasm. _ _

__Jack collapses down fully onto him, and Rhys lets out an “oomph!” sound as his lungs collapse under the weight. “Jesus,” he mutters, “You're heavy.”_ _

__Jack cackles down at him. “Don't be a baby, Rhysie. Especially not to the guy who just showed you the time of your life.”_ _

__“And so humble, too,” Rhys jokes, but then conversation takes a pause as Jack lays a finger along his jaw, tips their faces together for a surprisingly sweet kiss._ _

__After a moment, Jack reaches down and gently pulls himself free, though not so gently that Rhys doesn't gasp and swear at the final catch of Jack’s piercing against him. Jack meets his eyes, gives him another grin as he unsticks himself to sit properly on the bench._ _

__“So,” he says, offering a hand to Rhys and pulling him up to sit against him, shoulder to shoulder. “What'd you think? Was the ride worth the price of admission?”_ _

__With a groan, Rhys gives a full-bodied stretch, watches from the corner of his eye as Jack gives him an appreciative up and down eyeballing. “I sure as hell enjoyed myself. But uh,” he begins tentatively, “Is this a once in a lifetime kind of ride? Should I be finding a new place to have my tattoo artist loudly judge me for my designs?”_ _

__Jack lets out a barking laugh and settles an arm over Rhys’ shoulders, pulling him in close. “Listen, Rhysie, there's no one I'd rather judge, okay? Come in again tomorrow, we'll finish you up and move on to the next travesty in ink...And if you'd like to stick around after I close up, well, I'm sure I can make it worth your time.”_ _

__In a second, Rhys is gonna have to get up, shuffle his filthy self back into his clothes and head home for a few hours sleep before he's due back at work, but for now, he leans into Jack, wraps an arm around Jack’s waist and brings the free one up to badly muffle his delighted laughter._ _

__“Oh, and by the way,” Jack says, smirking over at him, “I'm sure as hell not cleaning this up, so unless you want to make a lifetime enemy out of Angel, you'd better get on it--in a minute, babe, let me wallow on you!” he yells when Rhys starts moving enough to smack him on the thigh._ _

__“ _Asshole_ ,” Rhys snaps, but it's like 60% affectionate, and Jack gives him that manic grin and pulls him in even closer, so Rhys doesn't hold it against him. _ _

__Knowing Jack, Angel’s probably seen worse. She'll forgive him eventually._ _

**Author's Note:**

> i looked at so many genital piercings on the internet for this, my search history will never be the same


End file.
